


Remind Me of All the Good Things

by lazarus



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus/pseuds/lazarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony doesn't know how it happened, but somewhere along the way, he and Steve became <i>friends</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remind Me of All the Good Things

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt that got way too long: _“Okay so I love how Steve and Tony are totally pulling each other’s pigtails in the Avenger’s Trailer. Could you possibly write a fic about the moment they both realize they’re head over heels for each other?”_

Tony and Steve don’t get along, that much was certain from the verbal showdown that went on the moment they met. The thing is, Tony doesn’t know why he dislikes Steve so much—he barely knows the guy, save from the history books and what little conversations his father had indulged him when he was a child.

Captain America—Steve Rogers—was a living legend, all blond-hair, chiseled chest (he’ll deny ever thinking this later), broad shoulders and just a walking, talking, breathing human perfection on two legs. Even Tony can see that from an objective stand-point.

But that’s not the point. The point is, Tony took one good look at Steve and decided he wasn’t worth taking orders from, let alone working with. And Steve was more than happy to share similar sentiments, judging from the tick in his jaw and the fire in his blue eyes and the fact that he didn’t think Tony was anything without his armor.

And this went on for months with the team cautiously standing in the wings, wary each time Tony baited Steve and fed up every time Steve rose to it with his own string of sarcastic and biting remarks. Tony doesn’t know how they managed to work together for this long without fucking up missions or just all around beating the shit out of one another.

However, when they began getting along was an entirely different matter. Tony doesn’t even know when or how it all happened, let alone started. Somewhere between all the heated glares, the cold shoulders, the snapping and the bickering—they’d managed to find solid footing, and—crazily enough—started getting along.

Tony saved his life a few times and Steve had saved his, and something close to mutual respect seemed to have arose from that, along with a begrudging sense of gratitude and tolerance. They even started nodding at each other in passing, instead of just ignoring one another or flipping each other the bird the second their backs were turned(more so Tony’s case than Steve's). If anything, at least the team could breathe a sigh of relief and be a little more at ease knowing a bit of the tension between themhad been lifted. Team missions went considerably better after that.

Tony still makes snarky remarks in Steve’s direction, but they were without the usual ire, and Steve responds in kind; a warm, open smile on his face that makes Tony a little tongue-tied and confused until he finally remembers himself.

Then things go downhill when Tony and Steve start hanging out together after debriefings or just when they had some spare time. Steve shows him how to fight, how to defend himself properly without the armor (he’s been trained by Happy and Rhodey, but training with Captain America would probably give Tony a better advantage against his enemies), although to be honest, Tony thinks this was just an excuse for Steve to throw Tony around.

He was certainly smug every time he managed to pin Tony on his back, and while it was at his expense, Tony didn’t quite mind when he had fifty pounds of Super Soldier pressed up against him… and at this point, Tony will have told himself to shut up and concentrate.

In turn, Tony shows Steve everything and anything about the modern world—from cell phones to Google, from Star Wars to Disney, from Harry Potter to Lord of the Rings, and so on and so forth. It’s a blur of fond laughs, fond memories and a feeling of excitement and contentment Tony’s never really had before.

He likes being with Steve, he _likes_ Steve—and he doesn’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the way, they became _friends_.

Then it gets worse when they start trusting each other with more than just the team-work stuff. It was fine when they’re grabbing a burger together or he’s crushing Steve in Mario Kart, but _personal_ stuff was like a whole other ball game. It’s _dangerous_.

Steve has told Tony about Peggy, about losing Bucky, about longing and aching for a life he’s missed, about how he just woke up one day and everything was different. And in turn, Tony laid himself bare and vulnerable in a way that he’d never been with anybody else—not to Rhodey or Happy, not even to Pepper. He tells Steve about his mechanical heart, about Obidiah Stane, about his near death experiences and how much his father’s absence and silence had actually cost him.

Steve didn’t pity him or give him the standard ‘I’m sorry’ speech that Tony’s come to hate. Instead he nudges Tony by the shoulder and gives him a shy but earnest smile.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he says, and it’s in his eyes and voice and Tony isn’t supposed to feel pleased about hearing those words, least of all from Steve, but he does. He feels a mixture of relief and thanks and something else he’s not entirely sure he understands just yet. It fills his heart until he’s near bursting and it takes him all he can not to just take Steve’s hand and hold it.

“I’m glad you’re here too,” Tony returns instead, and hopes the level of sincerity is the same, but Steve’s smile is so wide and full that Tony sees dimples and a twinkle in those blue eyes. Steve takes Tony by the hand and it’s warm; the nameless feeling spreading through his chest like wildfire until he’s completely consumed with it.

And Tony decides his emotional roller-coaster was worth every moment of this.

And then one day, Tony wakes up—literally and figuratively— (he was at a hospital; the last thing he remembered was being thrown into a building and then black) and there’s Steve, sitting by his bed; his head resting against the pillow next to Tony’s and his hand just an inch away from his… as if he’d been holding it, and Tony _knew_. He just knew.

He was in love with Captain America—no, he was in love with _Steve Rogers_ , which Tony realizes was much, much worse. Everyone loved Captain America, but he was quite sure only a handful loved—actually _loved_ —Steve Rogers.

What transpires after that are 5 long, painful months of self-induced denial and lots and lots of convincing that every time he looked at Steve, the only reason his heart was pounding so loudly in his hears was because of his poor heart condition. Avoiding Steve would have been the best course of action until this all died down and Tony got a hold on himself, but Tony is a masochist and likes making things harder for himself.

He loves and enjoys Steve’s company. He _craves_ it. What’s more, he loves and enjoys Steve’s smile, his laugh and the way his eyes light up every time Tony says or does something particularly amusing. He loves the way Steve smells when he’s fresh from the shower—all soap and steam and cotton. He loves Steve’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him after a fight or when he’s ushering Tony off to bed. He loves Steve’s voice, the way it rumbles deep in his chest—the way it goes soft and gentle and quiet and then firm and determined and commanding. He loves Steve’s eyes, his mouth, his everything and gods, Tony wants and loves him so much he doesn’t know what to do with himself half of the time.

It doesn’t take Tony long to realize that his feelings aren’t going to dissipate over night or in the next few months—or at all. He’s in love with Steve and it seemed like a permanent fix. Alcohol won’t make him forget and sleeping with other people won’t make it stop.

The thing about Steve is, he’s too good for Tony. Tony’s damaged goods; he’s reckless, and selfish and he’ll take Steve and bring him down to his level, where he’s bitter, destructive and a total mess. Tony knows what he’s capable of: he destroys every good thing he has in his life, but he’s not about to destroy this. If keeping his feelings in check means he got to keep his friendship with Steve then Tony’s more than willing to drown himself in a life-time of self-repression.

Tony carries this plan out well for at least three and a half months before Steve starts to notice the difference. He starts to notice Tony pulling away every time he gets a little too close. But Tony doesn’t know what to do when Steve takes his hand when they’re watching movies together or when Steve pins him down on the mat for longer than necessary and stares at Tony with those deep blue eyes that Tony’s more than willing to get lost in. He doesn’t know what to do with these unreadable, confusing gestures, and the sure-fire way to avoid chaos is to avoid thinking about them entirely.

So he runs. He pushes Steve until he has a least an arms length or a continent between them. Tony knows it hurts—being away from Steve hurts more than he can bear, but he knows it’ll hurt more when Steve realizes he can’t give Tony what he wants. He tries not to think of what his life will be like if Steve ever finds himself a girlfriend.

Then this madness comes to a spiraling end when Steve breaks and snaps something at him—something like, “I’m tired of this, Tony!”—before dragging Tony by the back of his head and kisses him fiercely.

Tony’s confused and his heart has lodged itself in his throat, but oh my god, Steve is _kissing_ him. That’s definitely his hand on Tony’s cheek and that’s definitely a hard-on brushing up against Tony’s leg. And Tony is responding immediately: his hands are moving around Steve’s shoulders, along his neck and into his hair, which is just as soft as they looked, and he’s kissing back for all that he’s worth.

It’s the best kiss of Tony’s disastrous romantic life (or lack thereof since it's been a long time since Tony's been with anybody).

Steve makes some happy sound in the back of his throat and crowds Tony further against the wall while Tony’s hands are already dragging up his shirt and throwing it across the room. Tony doesn’t remember making it to the bed or how he’d managed to get his pants off without tripping over them (he swears he has more finesse than this) and he thinks he remembers Steve laughing while he pinned Tony to the bed and used his mouth to shut Tony up in the best possible way.

The rest is a hazy sensation too superfluous for even Tony’s vocabulary to describe, but Steve’s between his legs and Tony’s moaning something—possibly his name, or a plea, or both. And Steve’s just moving, sweat poring down his the tips of his hair, his back and his mouth is hot and wet against Tony’s lips, his jaw and his neck. Tony falls apart and he’s clinging and sobbing into Steve’s shoulder, desperately trying to hold on.

And then it’s over—and by god was Tony going to want more of that again soon—and Tony turns to Steve, who’s also out of breath (which is a pleasant surprise considering Steve never gets winded) and says the first thing that comes to mind:

“I hope you’re not planning on leaving in the morning.”

Which is really quite stupid because Steve doesn’t have any obligations to stay with Tony. Tony isn’t even sure if Steve even feels the same, although he’s quite sure Steve has rules about one-night stands and how they should never apply to team-mates, let alone friends, but Tony has his heart in his throat again because if Steve said no… if he wasn’t planning on staying… then Tony was going to have to live with his decision and move on.

It’ll tear him apart, but Tony’s good at that.

Steve looks confused for half a second and presses a hand along the curve of Tony’s spine, making Tony shiver.

“Where else would I go?” he says, so perfectly honest that Tony feels breathless again, like Steve is pushing him back down and making him fall apart all over again.

Tony wishes there was an ‘off’ button to how much a person was allowed to feel because this was just too much—the gentle, tender look in Steve’s eyes when he looks at Tony was just too much. He… didn’t deserve it. He didn’t get this lucky. People like him didn’t get opportunities like this, and he’s already used up his quota for second chances more times than he probably deserved.

Tony’s first instinct is to run again, because from personal experience, when things are this good, it usually means bad shit is about to happen in the possibly near future. His second instinct is to curl up around Steve and melt into warm skin and strong arms. But he does neither and just looks at his hands since it’s the safe and makes sense—or at least Tony’s hoping they do.

“Tony,” Steve says, pulling Tony closer so that they’re chest to chest and Steve’s arms are encasing him there, dashing all of Tony’s thoughts of running away. “Do you…” and at this he hears hesitance and a hint of fear in Steve’s next words, “… do you regret it?”

“No!” Tony says, quite horrified that Steve would even think such a thing. “This was the best night of my life.”

And it’s the truth. The admittance makes Steve relax, if only a fraction.

“So what’s wrong?” says Steve.

It would be better to lie, to tell Steve something—anything—that doesn’t show how much of a fuck up Tony is, but Tony’s never been able to lie to Steve properly for a long time, and soon enough he’s opening his mouth and words are tumbling out like he’s lost control of them. He says too much, he says too little—maybe half the things he says doesn’t make much sense—but when it comes down to it all what Tony really says is:

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve _you_ —” even though he doesn’t actually say that, per se (Tony likes to think he has more grace than that), however, the look on Steve’s face as Tony vomits his feelings says Tony might as well have said those exact words anyway.

“I love you,” says Steve when Tony’s done. He sounds fierce and determined, like this is a battle and Tony’s self-depreciation is a villain he needs to deal with. But his eyes are full of lights, his expression an open book for Tony and only Tony to read. “I’ve loved you for months—”

And Tony’s pulling him into a kiss, and then another and another—he’s lost track of how many—his fingers tight along the ends of Steve’s hair and his mouth desperate and hot and harsh, whispering, pleading nonsense like, “Say it. Say it again. Please” and every time Steve does.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” A litany of words that makes Tony believe every single time. “I love you, Tony,” he says, not sounding the least bit tired of saying it as Tony isn’t of hearing it. “I _love_ you.”

And Tony knows Steve will always be around to remind him how much.


End file.
